Conjuring the Flesh

by Brandon Fox

  Thane prowled deeper into the foliage, holding his cloak tight around his body, looking around warily. “We’ll be able to see what the zamindar’s sorcerer is doing from here? It’s like a bramble patch.”

  Leif pointed up. “See that balcony? It’s an easy climb. There are boards nailed to the oak by the wall. You can’t see them from the street.” His teeth flashed briefly as he grinned. “Pavol and I aren’t the only ones who sneak into this garden.” He held up the key. “But we won’t be disturbed. Anybody else who comes by looking for the key will know the balcony’s occupied. Besides, it doesn’t get used much this time of year. Too cold.”

  Thane started for the tree. “Let’s go, then. The sorcerer could start his rounds anytime.” The climb was quick and easy. He jumped onto the balcony, landing without a sound. It was only about a yard deep but extended for ten feet. Its iron railing was covered with boards that provided a shield against both wind and prying eyes. He crouched behind the makeshift wall and saw that Leif had been right. They had a clear view of the Minstrel’s Gate.

  Leif tugged a board a few inches to the side. “We can watch through the gap,” he said. “We’ll be safer that way.” He crouched beside Thane, obviously caught up in the adventure.

  Thane tested the view through the gap. “You’re sure nobody can hear us inside the house?” he asked.

  “Lady Trygvesson is frail,” Leif answered as he sat beside Thane. “Even if she’s here, I doubt she ever leaves the ground floor.” He shivered and looked at the darkening sky. “But then Pavol and I never came here to talk. We never sat around in cold like this, either.”

  “My cloak is big enough to cover both of us. Would you like to share warmth?”

  Leif didn’t hesitate. “That’s the best proposition I’ve had all day.”

  Thane held his cloak open. Leif nestled against his front and held the cloak’s front edges together as the mage embraced him.

  The heat of their bodies, trapped by the heavy wool, soon warmed them. A few travelers still passed through the Minstrel’s Gate as the sun dropped below the top of the city’s wall. The gate would be closing soon.

  They leaned together as they watched and waited. Thane was surprised at how comfortable he already felt with the companion. His easy manner made him seem like an old friend. “You feel like Ander, in a way,” he said. “It’s a sign that you’re close.” He spoke softly, close to Leif’s right ear. A faint aroma of straw and smoke lingered in the thick blond hair.

  Leif nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Close, yes. Not in the same way as you, but still strong. He’s always been my best friend.”

  “It’s more than friendship, I think. He cares deeply for you. And he trusts you completely.”

  Leif leaned against Thane. “I know. He’s loyal to a fault. But you already know that, don’t you? You can feel each other’s thoughts?”

  “Oh, yes. And more. When you form a bond with a lover, you can experience everything he feels. Especially when you’re using the art.”

  “When you’re making love.” Leif shivered with anticipation. “Will I have to wait long before learning how?”

  Thane squeezed him and playfully tickled his ribs. “I’m sure you’ll learn quickly. It won’t be long before you’re ready to attempt a bond. And you’ve got an advantage.”

  “My experience as a companion?”

  “That helps, but your friendship with Ander is more important. You’ll bond with him more easily than with someone you don’t know as well.”

  Leif gave a contented sigh. “I’m glad he’ll be my first. Will I get to bond with you too, after I learn how?”

  Thane laughed softly. “I think I see where Ander got his randy mind.” He moved a hand lower, to Leif’s crotch. The cock was hard and long. He pressed along its length, feeling it pulse and grow stiffer under his touch. “Don’t worry. I’m looking forward to teaching you the art.”

  Leif squirmed and adjusted his position to give Thane’s hand better access. “Could I bond with you and Ander while the two of you make love? Would I feel what both of you feel? I’d like to watch and feel at the same time, if—”

  Thane squeezed Leif to interrupt the question and leaned forward. “Look!” he whispered, his body taut. “Soldiers at the gate.”

  Leif released the cloak and moved aside, giving Thane a clear view as he moved forward and peered at the street below.

  Eight soldiers had assembled at the Minstrel’s Gate. They stood in a square formation with a space in the middle. Then another figure emerged from the shadowed gatehouse.

  Air seemed to swirl around the ancient sorcerer. His red robes, the color of blood, writhed around his frail body as if alive. He held a silver orb in his wizened hands. Slowly, he lifted it until its glow lit his face with pale light. He looked like a cadaver.

  It seemed to Thane that the sky darkened in a heartbeat. He felt the cold pulse of the sorcerer’s blood and a mind like a hungry crocodile’s. The search party started forward.

  A sharp pain stabbed at Thane’s gut. He fell back, gasping and pressing his hands to his belly. He blinked, stunned.

  “What is it?” Leif whispered, grabbing Thane by the shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “The kei,” Thane gasped. “It’s afire!” He winced again, doubling over and groaning.

  “What should I do?” Leif’s voice held an edge of panic.

  Thane crawled back to the edge of the balcony and forced himself up enough to look through the gap between the boards. The patrol had stopped moving. The sorcerer, holding his orb at arm’s length, slowly turned through the four points of the compass. His face, when Thane could see it, scowled with feral intensity.

  “I don’t understand,” Thane said. His arm jerked spasmodically, and his head throbbed. “The sorcerer is searching. But I don’t know why—” His face contorted, and a groan wrenched from his throat, rising in pitch as another surge of agony pierced his heart.

  “Quiet!” Leif whispered, urgent. “They’ll hear you!”

  Thane leaned against the balcony railing and peered blearily through the crack. The sorcerer was facing in their direction. He held the orb above his head. Golden motes danced around it like agitated fireflies. His skeletal grin was triumphant.

  “He knows I’m here,” Thane said. “I don’t know how, but he does.” He gulped painfully, trying to force his mind to work. “Can we get into the house from here?”

  “No. The doors are sealed fast. That’s why this is such a safe lair.”

  “It’s safe no longer.” A loud crash made them both jump. Thane looked down and saw two guards battering the garden’s gate with their shoulders. The neglected lock wouldn’t hold for long. He felt as though the air was being squeezed from his lungs. “Tell the others what happened,” he said, gasping. “Wait until you’re sure everyone is gone.” He sat up and unfastened the clasp that held his cloak. “Make sure Ander gets this. It contains secrets and has to be protected.” He thrust the heavy garment into Leif’s hands.

  “What are you doing?” Leif demanded. “They’ll kill you if they catch you!”

  “If I stay here, they’ll kill both of us.” There was another crash from the gate, and the groan of metal anchor pins pulling free of rock. He clutched Leif’s hand, his knuckles white. “The others can help. I’m counting on you!”

  Leif gave a quick nod, scowling fiercely.

  Satisfied, Thane got to his feet. Pain ripped through his side; it felt like a knife was slicing him open. Struggling to stifle a scream, he climbed over the balcony railing and grabbed one of the boards nailed to the nearby oak.

  The trip down the tree was torment. Each step was a blur of pain. Five feet above the ground, he lost his footing and fell into a clump of weeds. He got to his feet, then staggered toward the far corner of the garden. At the same time, a grating screech signaled the gate had finally yielded to the guards.

  Four guards charged into the garden with their swords drawn. The sorcerer remained at the gate
with the other four guards, his orb still held high. He shouted three incomprehensible words, and the orb pulsed with a red flash.

  Thane felt as though flames engulfed him. He screamed, paralyzed with pain, as he collapsed. Within seconds the guards found him, shaking and nearly unconscious. They dragged him to the garden’s gate and dropped him at the sorcerer’s feet before stepping back. The sorcerer lowered his orb and looked at Thane with undisguised glee.

  “So we’ve finally run the fox to ground. The zamindar will be pleased.” He nudged Thane with the toe of his boot, none too gently. “Whoever you are, you’ll soon rue the day you were born.”

  Thane forced his eyes open. “It’s a mistake,” he managed to gasp. “I’ve done nothing!”

  A sneer twisted the sorcerer’s sunken features. “Lies are useless, fool. You’re stained with the traces of a spell. A spell you triggered when you stole the zamindar’s property.”

  “I have nothing,” Thane said, moaning. “You have the wrong man.”

  The sorcerer’s laugh was filled with malice. “Oh, I believe you don’t have the zamindar’s baubles. We’d have found them by now if they were still in the city. Since we couldn’t find them, we looked for whoever stole them instead. And now you’ll help the zamindar get back what belongs to him.”

  Argument was useless, and Thane’s mind and body were too abused to maintain the effort. The sorcerer uttered another spell. A searing jolt of pain coruscated through his body, followed by merciful darkness.

  Chapter 15

  THANE swam up from nightmares, pulled by his body’s agony. Sharp metal bit his wrists, and his shoulders ached. He lay facedown on a rug, his arms wrenched behind his back and bound by shackles. Strained muscles demanded relief, but his mind, even clouded by pain and sorcery, forced his body to remain still. He heard voices.

  He opened one eye a little and peeked through his lashes. Two men stood nearby. One, a tall figure with a stooped posture, a long gray beard, and red robes, could only be an imperial sorcerer. It was a few moments before Thane could identify the other, though he seemed familiar. Hard eyes, widely spaced on the round face of an overweight old man. Thin lips compressed in a frown. Rich clothes in the imperial colors of black and gold.

  A rush of heat was followed by sick dread. He realized why the man was familiar. His likeness, in a highly distorted and flattering rendering, appeared on every imperial coin. Thane lay in chains at the zamindar’s feet.

  The zamindar spoke again, harsh and skeptical. “You’re becoming an old fool, Najja. This creature can’t be important. He’s barely a man. He’d fetch a good price in a house of companionship, but no more. Throw him to the guards for their amusement and get back to the search.”

  “Your words are wise, as always,” the old sorcerer said in a fawning tone. But his eyes were calculating. “Still, youth and beauty can be deceptive. He might be nineteen or twenty. Think how much you were capable of at that age.”

  The aging despot nodded thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll grant you, he looks strong and quick enough to make a good thief. But what about the cantrip? You said your own mages couldn’t survive it, even if they knew of it and prepared themselves. How could a young thief defeat the spell?”

  Najja scowled, displeasure and fear mingling on his dour face. “This magic we’ve encountered. It’s completely unlike our own sorceries. Perhaps the mages who wield it are likewise different.”

  The zamindar snorted. “Or perhaps your magic is getting as feeble as your mind. Don’t waste your time on goose chases, old man. I won’t abide another failure.”

  The sorcerer frowned but didn’t protest. Then his eyes widened slightly. “As I said, this one is more than he seems. He’s awake. He’s been listening to us.” He took a step forward and whacked the end of his staff against Thane’s ribs.

  Thane’s eyes snapped open. His jaw clenched to restrain a shout as pain shot through his chest. Breath hissed sharply between his teeth. He struggled into a seated position.

  They were in a vast tent lit by flickering oil lamps. In a glance he saw painted silks hung as shimmering curtains, ebony chairs and tables inlaid with gold, tightly woven rugs of incredible detail. But the luxurious tent held no interest. His gaze fixed on the zamindar as sudden rage made his heart pound. Lucian’s murderer. The butcher. Years of grief and anger clamored in his mind. To find himself in chains when he finally confronted his enemy left him shaking.

  “Doesn’t look like much of a menace to me,” the zamindar said. “You caught him by one of Pella’s gates, you say? What was he doing?”

  The sorcerer lashed out with his staff again, thumping Thane on the upper arm. “You heard the question! You’d best not hold your tongue if you want to keep it in your head.”

  The bruising blow cleared Thane’s mind. His encounter with the zamindar was perilously close to being short and fatal. The bored look in the zamindar’s eyes told him he didn’t have much time.

  “I… I was waiting for someone at the gate,” he stammered. “That’s all. A visiting friend.”

  “I already warned you that lying is useless,” the sorcerer said, raising his staff as if to swing it against Thane’s head. “Tell us about the crystals, fool. We know you took them. Tell us how you survived the spell that still stains your hands.”

  Thane cringed, but the blow didn’t fall. Though the zamindar seemed skeptical of his role in the theft, the ill-tempered sorcerer plainly had no doubts. A gamble on the old man’s curiosity seemed the only option.

  Bowing his head, Thane signaled his defeat. “I didn’t know it was the zamindar’s property. I swear it! The man who hired me said the stones belonged to him, that the garrison commander had taken them without authority.”

  “A virtuous thief?” The zamindar snorted. “Don’t waste my time, boy. Tell us the truth, or you’ll surely regret it.”

  Thane glanced around the tent. Outside, a campfire cast the shadow of two guards on the canvas flanking the tent’s entrance. And the zamindar himself was armed with both a short sword and a jeweled dagger. Escape was impossible.

  Thane sighed in submission. “I beg forgiveness. If I wronged you, it was from ignorance. I haven’t profited from it. I’ve yet to be paid. That’s… that’s why I was waiting by the gate.”

  “I don’t believe him,” the sorcerer said flatly. He jabbed Thane in the chest with the end of his staff, making him wince. “Look at him. There’s no fear in his eyes. And he has no explanation for surviving the cantrip. He’s trying to deceive us.”

  “No! I swear! The man who hired me gave me a potion to drink. It smelled vile, like rotten eggs. He told me where to find the stones. He’s to pay me as soon as he returns from delivering the goods to a customer. He should be back soon. That’s who I was waiting for.”

  “A glib tongue,” the sorcerer muttered, frowning through his gray beard. “You’re quick, but ignorant. The sorcerer you killed was the only man other than myself who knew where the crystals were hidden. His soul belonged to me. He couldn’t have betrayed us.” His eyes seemed to glow softly with red light as he peered at Thane. “I sense this whelp is hiding something.”

  “A problem easily cured,” the zamindar said. He returned to a cushioned chair and picked up a golden goblet. “He’ll feel less impudent after we’ve opened his back with a lash.” He took a sip of wine while giving Thane a contemptuous assessment. “Soon you’ll beg to reveal your secrets. The reputation of my torturers is well deserved.”

  A lump rose in Thane’s throat, but he said nothing. Memories of the torture Lucian had endured made him break into a cold sweat. The pain, shared through their bond, had nearly killed him. Only Lucian’s death, drowning in blood after deliberately chewing off his own tongue, had brought a kind of release.

  The imperial sorcerer stepped back to join his master. His red robes swirled around his scrawny body, but he still radiated power. He bowed stiffly in front of the zamindar.

  “You’re right, lord. We’l
l have to rip the knowledge out of him. But I suggest giving him over to the sorcerers instead. We’re less likely to accidentally kill him.”

  The zamindar paused, then nodded curtly. “As you wish, Najja. Just don’t fail me again.”

  The sorcerer bowed more deeply before turning back to Thane. This time there was no mistaking it. His ancient eyes glowed like rubies in a skull.

  THE door slammed open and Ander jerked up from the book he had been studying. Sorel and Nicolai rolled apart, their half-clad bodies tensing for action.

  Leif burst through the doorway. “They captured Thane! At the gate, the sorcerer somehow knew he was there.” He collapsed on the bed between Nicolai and Sorel, his chest heaving.

  Ander closed his eyes and felt for his bond with Thane. Even at a distance, there should have been a discernible thread of connection. Instead there was only emptiness. “He’s not there,” he said in a horrified whisper.

  Sorel leaped up. “Was he hurt?” He took his shirt off the chair it had been draped on and pulled it over his head.

  “I… I couldn’t tell. Something was wrong with him. But he was awake, arguing with the sorcerer. Until the sorcerer used a spell. Then Thane collapsed. He was still breathing, though. I was watching from the balcony and saw everything.”

  Ander’s body ached, every muscle rigid. Nicolai put an arm around him and squeezed tightly, trying without success to give reassurance.

  Sorel tossed Nicolai’s shirt onto the bed, then turned to Ander. “Listen to me. Thane was alive the last time Leif saw him. We have to concentrate on keeping him that way.”

  “You’re right,” Ander said, his voice shaky. He took a deep breath. “What can we do?”

  Sorel crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “I see two options. One is to try bribing a merchant to get us into the zamindar’s encampment, making a delivery. It’d be a blind gamble. We don’t even know where they’re holding him. Or we could try to learn something in the kei.”